


Don't You Cry

by shishcabob22



Series: I Thought I Wouldn't Miss You (Until You Were Gone) [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x22, Angry Dean Winchester, Cold Dean Winchester, Concerned Sam Winchester, Episode: s09e22 Stairway to Heaven, Gen, Mark of Cain, Scared Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 14:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16745614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shishcabob22/pseuds/shishcabob22
Summary: Dean isn't himself anymore. Sam wonders if he let things go too far.





	1. Sam Pt 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I'm back! SO sorry about the hiatus, I was at the busiest part of my year, and then I wanted to get my Christmas fic out of the way...feel free to check that out ;). Anyway, I'm back now, and here's your long-awaited update! It's been a while since I wrote in this series but I did my homework, so let me know what you think! Enjoy!

“No.”

Sam recoiled as if he’d been struck. Dean kept his eyes on the road, fingers occasionally twitching on the wheel as if he was already missing the feel of the Blade in his grip.

Somewhere along the line, Dean had stopped acting like _Dean._ And it had taken Sam much too long to realize it. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

The rest of the drive passed in silence. Once they got back to the bunker, Sam collapsed in his bed, exhausted.

His dreams were haunted by his brother.

* * *

 

Sam was woken what felt like five minutes later to rock music blasting in his ears. Instinct took over at the sudden intrusion of unfamiliar sound, and he whipped his gun out from beneath his pillow while rolling over onto his back--

\--then quickly lowered it. Dean stood poised over him with his phone out, an impassive look on his face.

Dean shut off the music. “Nice reflexes. Better hair,” he commented, gesturing at Sam’s bedhead.

Sam shakily stowed the gun and squinted into the light from the hallway, heart still galloping in his chest. “What’s wrong with you? I could’ve shot you.” He glanced down at his watch, barely registering the time. “Why aren’t you sleeping? We got in like two hours ago.”

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. “Not tired. And we got work to do, so put on your dancing shoes, and let’s boogie.”

Sam scrubbed a weary hand across his face as Dean left the room. Okay, weird. How Dean wasn’t completely spent after his title fight with Abaddon, Sam didn’t know. But something had to be up for Dean to drag him out of bed this early in the morning regardless, or they would be having words.

Sam managed to make his way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee after pulling on the least-suspicious smelling clothes he had, and joined Dean in the library. “Alright, what’s up?”

“I called Cas. He said there's something going down in Missouri,” Dean answered.

“What kind of something?”

“He said he couldn't talk about it over the phone.”

“Why?”

“Because he is a weird guy, okay? He's a weird, dorky, little guy. But he happens to have an army of angels behind him, and, even though I hate to say it, if we're gonna take a shot at Metatron, they might be useful,” Dean said as he moved to place the First Blade in his duffel.

Sam felt the pit of unease widen within him a little more.  “Well, do you think we need the First Blade? Why don't we just leave that here?”

Dean put down the Blade and met Sam’s eyes. “We talked about this, and we decided that--”

“No. In all fairness, we didn't decide. You did,” Sam argued, keeping his voice level.

Dean’s gaze hardened. “Okay, _I_ decided that a hockey stick that can kill anything might come in handy, so sue me.”

Sam wanted to be angry. He really did. After all, he’d been hoping they were passed all this. But what he felt wasn’t anger. It was fear. Of what, he wasn’t sure, or didn’t want to admit.

“How many times have we been around this block? Magic that powerful comes at a price, and right now we don't know what that price is,” Sam reasoned desperately.

Dean spread his hands. “I'm fine. I'm fan-friggin'-tastic,” he exclaimed.

“And I'm glad, honestly. I'm not saying we bury the thing. I'm saying we just save it for when we really need it. Crowley. Metatron. The big boss fights. You don't have to have it with you all the time, right? I mean, just leave it. Please,” Sam begged.

Dean searched Sam’s eyes for moment, then set the Blade to the side. “No problem.”

Sam breathed a small sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

But there was a look in Dean’s eyes Sam didn’t recognize, and as they loaded the impala and headed out, Sam wondered whether his brother realized how much the Mark had changed him. Or if he cared.

* * *

Sam and Dean found Cas at the site of a recent smiting. Several humans and one of Cas’ angels had been killed in the incident. It didn't take long to wrap things up, and the three of them made their way back to Cas’ command center.

Upon arriving, one of the angels who seemed to have a little more authority than the rest--Hannah--approached them with a grim look on her face. An angel named Josiah hadn’t been seen since another of their own was murdered, which likely meant he was the mole.

Sam managed to get a name and relative location using Josiah’s vessel, but before they could do much more, one of the other angels interrupted.

“Commander. I have something. This phone's memory chip has a video time-stamped just before the explosion.”

Through shaky camera work, the video showed an angel ripping open his coat to reveal a sigil carved into his chest. His final, blood-curdling words were a shouted “I do this for Castiel!” before he plunged his angel blade into his chest. Everything went white.

The command center was deathly still for a moment. Dean broke the silence, growling, “What the hell was that?”

Cas shook his head, eyes wide. “I don't know. I didn't -- I would never ask an angel to sacrifice himself to kill innocents. I'm gonna be sick.”

“Cas, why would an angel blow up an ice cream shop in your name?” Sam asked quietly.

“That's not what he was doing. Roll it back. There,” Hannah pointed to a girl sitting in a booth. “That was an angel--Esther. She's one of Metatron's."

“So, this was some kind of hit?”

“I don't know,” Cas repeated. He looked a little pale, and Sam distantly wondered if angels could go into shock.

“Stop saying you don't know,” Dean spat.

The color quickly returned to Cas’ face. “You can't think I would allow something like this.”

“Cas, I know you try to be a good guy, okay? I do. You try. But what you got here, this is a a freakin' cult.”

“Dean--”

“And the last time you had this kind of juice, you did kill humans and angels, and you did nothing but lie to me and Sam about it the whole damn time!” Dean raged.

Sam swallowed, overly conscious of the attention they were attracting. “Can we, uh--can we take this somewhere else, guys?”

Sam managed to herd Dean and Cas into Cas’ office. “Will you stow the baggage, Dean? Look, we've got a case. Let's work it. Cas, did you know the angel in that video?”

Cas did, which wasn’t a surprise. The angel was in “community outreach,” which meant he worked minor miracles at a local hospital. The runes in his chest were meant to focus energy, which was unleashed when the angel was stabbed.

“So, what do we do now?” Cas asked.

“Well, you don't do jack.” Cas narrowed his eyes. “Me and Sam will head to the hospital, see if we can find somebody who knew this...walking nuke,” Dean continued.

“Hold on. These are my people. I can help,” Cas protested.

“Well, that's sort of the problem. I mean, the Manson girls aren't gonna give us a straight answer with Charlie in the room, so just hang back.”

Cas raised his eyebrows cynically. “So, I should just sit here?”

“Pretty much.”

“No,” Cas stated firmly. “If you don't want my help, then I will follow Josiah's trail to Colorado. I have to do something, Dean.”

“Alright, fine. But Sam's coming with you.”

Sam started. “What?” he managed, at almost the same time Cas demanded, “Because you don't trust me?

“To help,” Dean placated. The words and the expression on his face belonged to Sam’s brother. The eyes didn’t.

He and Cas exchanged looks before reluctantly leaving Dean. It wasn’t like they had a whole lot of other options.

* * *

Sam sped along the two-lane asphalt, thinking over Dean and Cas’ exchange earlier.  Dean had remained oddly calm after their initial fight, to the point where the angel had seemed like the emotional one. He had a nagging feeling that Dean had just wanted them both out of the picture.

He distracted himself by filling Cas in, telling him about Crowley, his son, and most importantly, Abaddon.

“Abaddon is dead,” Cas confirmed.

“And then some.” Sam had to restrain a shudder at the memory of Dean kneeling over the demon’s ravaged body.

“Oh, no.”

“Okay. Um...Ominous,” Sam remarked nervously.

Cas tilted his head to look at Sam. “Does Dean seem... different to you?”

“Yeah. Lately, he seems to be...amped up, you know, on edge.” Actually, if he thought about it, Dean's behavior recently reminded him of himself--soulless, or even better, hooked on demon blood.

Sam didn't think about it.

“Effects of the Mark?”

“What else?” Because now Sam knew for sure that the ancient symbol had to be the cause. He and Dean had their differences, especially recently, but Sam had never seen his brother like this before.

 _Maybe,_ a small voice whispered in the back of his head, _that’s because you weren’t really looking._

“He does seem angry. I mean, he's always a little angry, but now it seems like...more,” Cas remarked, voice heavy.

Sam couldn’t help but agree.

* * *

Later, standing outside a worn industrial building with Cas, Sam got a call. He almost dropped his phone in his haste to pick it up. “Hey.”

“How is he?” Dean greeted, and Sam ventured to think that he even sounded kind of like himself.

“He's, uh...He's Cas. What about you? How's it going?”

“Great! Went out, got some air, met an old friend. Say hi to Sam, Tessa.”

Sam felt his brow furrow at the name, even as the creak of the impala’s door opening made its way through the line.

“Your brother's a psycho, Sam!” Tessa yelled, and Sam gripped the phone tighter. He heard Dean give a forced little chuckle before slamming the impala door.

Sam knew his eyes were wide with worry, but it wasn’t like Dean was around to see it. That didn’t really make him feel any better, though. “What’s going on?” Sam demanded softly. The words barely made it out past his clenched teeth.

He couldn’t say he was surprised when he never got a straight answer.

 


	2. Dean

 

“What do I call you?” Dean asked, settling into a chair across from one of the community outreach agents, a female angel in a doctor’s coat.

“My angelic name is 18 syllables long. Let's stick with Flagstaff,” she said, unveiled irritation coating her tone.

“Copy. So, you knew this Oren guy?” Dean asked blandly.

Flagstaff smiled. “We worked together at the hospital. He was a joy--bright, full of life.”

“Yeah, I hear he had a real explosive personality,” Dean quipped dryly.

Flagstaff’s expression hardened. “Do you think this is a joke?”

“Do you see me laughing?” Dean responded, stone-faced. The angel had no answer. Dean sighed. “Is there anything else you can tell me about him? For example, why he'd light his own fuse.”

“No. Can I go? I have lives to save,” Flagstaff informed him importantly.

“Welcome to the club.”

Flagstaff smirked. Dean felt the removed apathy of the last few hours begin to wear thin. “Something funny?”

“Not _funny_ . But you thinking you help people--it's amusing. I help people. A clogged artery here, a tumor there. I do good in this world. You--you believe every problem can be solved with a gun. You play the hero, but underneath the hype, you're a killer with oceans of blood on your hands. I _hate_ men like you.”

Dean nodded at her calmly, then looked down, face twisting into a scowl. Suddenly he was on his feet, throwing the table between them to the side in one swift motion. He shoved the angel to the ground, still in her chair, and pinned her there. Adrenaline coursed through him as he pressed the tip of his angel blade to her throat.

“Honey, there ain't no other men like me.”

Flagstaff whimpered. “Don't...please.”

“Oren. Friends?” Dean barked.

“Constantine... And Tessa.”

Dean did a double take at the name. “Tessa. The reaper, Tessa?”

Some of the haze cleared from his mind. Tessa. That was somewhere to start.

* * *

“Howdy, Tessa.”

The reaper froze on her way up the auditorium steps, and turned to face Dean as he emerged from behind a pillar. “You're supposed to be working at the hospital tonight, but when I stopped by, you were gone. So was an ambulance. Pro tip--they all have GPS.”

“Good to know. So, you're here. Why? You just love musical theater?”

“Only if it's Fiddler. We need to talk.”

“Can't. Sorta got a date.” Tessa turned back to the auditorium. Dean grabbed her jacket to pull her back, revealing the inflamed edges of a sigil carved into her chest.

“Not happening,” he snarled. Tessa tried to jerk away. Dean grabbed her wrist and cuffed her, pushing the reaper up against a wall. She shied from him, but Dean just pressed harder.

“Where’s the other one? Where’s Constantine?!"

* * *

Dean dragged Tessa into the control center. Hannah took one look at the bound reaper and rose to confront the hunter.

“What are you doing?”

Dean jostled Tessa a little. “You want to tell her?” Tessa didn’t say anything.

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled back the edge of her shirt to expose the now-mutilated runes.

“Oh, God,” Hannah breathed.

Tessa lifted her chin. “There's no God. There's only Castiel.”

“Oh, and you're done.” Dean walked Tessa down a hallway and shoved her into one of the holding cells. He could practically feel the tapping of loafers and flats as the other angels followed him.

“You wounded her,” Hannah accused.

Dean sighed. “More like "defused," okay? I cut up that old testament graffiti she carved into herself. I figured that would break the spell.” And _damn,_  if he hadn’t enjoyed that.

Some random angel in a red shirt--Dean mentally dubbed him Red Shirt--stepped forward. “And now? What will you do to her?”

Dean pulled his angel blade from his jacket. “Guess,” he smiled humorlessly.

Flagstaff scoffed. “Torture. Predictable.”

“We need to know if there are other bombers out there.”

Hannah shook her head. “No. I won't allow it. I know what Tessa was planning. It's horrible, but there's only one person who can punish her.”

“Let me guess. Yea big, trench coat, sensible shoes?” Dean guessed, exasperated.

“You have to understand that Castiel is the only thing holding us together. A month ago, half the angels in this place were trying to kill the other half. Castiel has given us a purpose. But more than that, he has given us a way to live in peace. We have rules. Order. If I let you take matters into your own hands, what's to stop one of them from doing the same?” Dean cast his eyes cooly around the hallway, conscious of angels surrounding him on every side. “You can talk to her. You should talk to her. But leave the blade outside.”

Dean leaned forward, tilting his head just so. “Are you asking or telling?”

“We're not asking,” Red Shirt informed.

Dean stared evenly at the angel. His gaze flicked to Hannah, then to the ground. He nodded slightly, smoothly flipping the blade handle first and holding it out to Hannah. She took it and stepped back, wary of the cold curl of his mouth and the passive fire of his eyes.

Dean walked into the cell, Hannah close on his heels.

* * *

Dean let the door slam shut behind him as he entered the room, sealing them off from the rest of the compound. Tessa sat at the very table Dean had flipped only hours earlier, hands cuffed in front of her.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean smoldered at the angels’ refusal to let him do what clearly had to be done, but the presence of the Blade calmed him. He discreetly ran his hand along the smooth bone, assuring himself of its proximity.

He sat down at the table across from Tessa. “Okay. Well, let's start with an easy one. Who are you working for?”

“Castiel.”

“Liar,” Hannah accused.

Tessa laughed. “People like you, they never understand. Sacrifices have to be made.”

Dean leaned forward. “So you go after one of the bad guys, and if a few humans get microwaved, no big deal, right?”

“In the grand scheme, they don't matter.”

Dean shook his head sadly. “Oh, Tessa, you are so wrong.” Despite whatever...pleasure he’d taken from his job recently, he hadden fallen that far. He never would.

“When Castiel came to me and told me what I had to do, he said I was chosen because I was strong. Others...they couldn't handle this. They're too weak,” she said, locking eyes with Hannah.

Hannah rushed forward, but Dean held her back. He grabbed her by the shoulders and guided her out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

“Settle down!”

Hannah stared at the door, breathing hard. “Is--do you think she's telling the truth?”

“She thinks she is.” But Dean wasn’t so sure anymore. The Blade had a way of clearing his head, at least.

Hannah nodded solemnly, then turned and made her way back toward the main command room. Dean didn’t think to ask why.

He stepped back into the cell and shut the door more deliberately this time. Tessa pivoted to face him.

“Where's your friend?”

“Just you and me now. Let's talk about us. I mean, we got history, yeah?”

“Sure,” Tessa agreed with a smirk. “I still remember our meet-cute. You were dying.”

“Good times. Here's the deal. I like you, Tess, okay? For an angel. But tell me, why are you doing this?” Dean asked earnestly.

“Castiel.”

“No, forget Cas. Why are you doing this? What would make a person want to pop their top, huh?” Tessa studied him placidly, and Dean pretended like he hadn’t known the answer to that once.

“I mean, look, I've been in bad shape. I have. But I have never been that damn low.” _Close, but not quite,_ a part of him muttered. It wasn’t difficult to bury the thought under the constant, shrill whine of the Mark.

“I guess I just can't take the screaming,” Tessa confessed bitterly.

“Who's screaming?”

“All of them. The lost souls. The ones that can't get into heaven now that it's been boarded up. I hear them. They are so confused. They're in so much pain.” Tessa swallowed thickly. “All I want to do is help them. It's what I do. It's my _job_. But I can't. So I suffered...until death, nothingness. Suddenly, it didn't seem so bad. It seemed quiet.”

“So, why don't you just jam an angel blade in your throat and call it a day?”

“I thought about it. But I was too weak. Till Castiel gave me a reason to die.”

Dean considered her. “Yeah. See, that just doesn't sound like the Cas I know.”

“But doesn't it, though? And the Cas you know, would he raise an army of angels without telling you? 'Cause this Cas did.” Dean lowered his head. He didn’t like it. But it made a twisted kind of sense.

Or maybe it was just him that was twisted.

“I'll tell you a secret. There's more out there...like me. So many more.”

Dean’s gaze hardened. “You got names?”

Tessa grinned, just a touch of mania in the depths of her eyes. “That would ruin all the fun.”

“No. No, see…” Dean didn’t bother to hide the bloodlust in his own eyes as he took out the Blade. “The fun's just getting started.”

The fear on Tessa’s face sent a shiver of satisfaction down Dean’s spine. “Dean, what have you done?”

“What I had to.”

“Welcome to the club,” Tessa whispered.

Tessa grabbed Dean by the shoulders and pulled herself onto the Blade. Dean’s eyes widened in surprise and confusion.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

Dean didn’t even think before shoving the Blade in to its hilt, burying it in Tessa’s chest. She screamed as her grace burned out, shining through her eyes and mouth. Dean let her fall to the ground, shaking from the high of the kill.

There was a fleeting moment of horror as he regarded Tessa’s body, but even that was quickly overcome, insignificant compared to the sheer rush of _power_ he felt. He watched, mesmerized, as blood dripped from the Blade.

Then the angels came.

 


	3. Sam Pt 2

Sam burst into the room, taking a moment to absorb his brother tied up in a chair, nose leaking blood, duct tape over his mouth. Looking much more self-assured than anyone had any right to in his situation.

Hannah held the door open, standing aside for Cas to enter the room. “He put up a fight.”

“Get out,” Cas growled.

Sam walked over to Dean and ripped off the tape.

Dean grunted. “You should have seen the other 10 guys.”

“They said you killed Tessa?” Cas accused.

“Not so much. She knifed herself.”

Sam removed the handcuffs a little more roughly than necessary. “Yeah? Why would she do that, Dean?”

“I don't know, Sam. She was saying all kinds of crap,” Dean said, spreading his now-free hands. Sam found it disturbing how easy it was for his brother to lie.

“So that's why you brought out the First Blade?” Sam fumed.

Dean stood up, not a shred of remorse on his face. “They told you about that, huh?”

“We had a deal.”

“Yeah, well, it was a stupid deal.”

“Really? 'Cause if you'd stuck to it, Tessa would still be alive. Without her, we ain't got jack.” Sam retorted, voice rising.

“Yeah, you think I don't know that? You think I wanted that to happen?”

“I don't know, Dean. Did you?” Because honestly? Sam thought he did.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Cas interrupted.

“Commander.” The three of them turned to see Hannah hovering in the doorway. “I’m sorry, but you have a call. From Metatron.”

* * *

“You want to stay with Castiel, fine. But he's playing you, because at the end of the day, the only thing he cares about is himself and the Hardy boys there. You've got a choice to make. Make the right one.”

The computer screen went blank.

Cas turned to face the angels. “He's lying.”

“About the Grace?” Hannah asked quietly.

“...It's complicated.”

“So he wasn't lying,” another angel ventured.

“He was, about everything else. He…” Cas’ eyes shifted from one angel to another, before finally settling on Hannah. “You believe me, don't you?”

“I want to believe you, but I...we need proof.”

“Name it,” Cas said immediately.

“Punish him.” Hannah gestured at Dean.

“What?” Dean managed.

“He murdered Tessa. He broke our rules.”

“Y'all can all go to hell,” Dean scowled. He began forcing his way through the crowd.

“Dean--” Cas cautioned. But it was too late. Angels grabbed Dean, pinning his arms to his sides.

Sam started forward, panic welling up within him. “Hey, wait a sec--” Panic turned to fear when another angel restrained him, stopped him from getting to his brother.

“You gave us order, Castiel, and we gave you our trust. Don't lose it over one man.” Hannah pulled out a blade and offered it to Cas. “This is justice.”

Cas considered the blade, and took it hesitantly. Sam felt his blood run cold. He glanced at Dean, who had that same wide-open look in his eyes that had been there after Magnus, after Abaddon.

Cas approached Dean with the blade. Things seemed to slow down as the angel tightened his grip on the weapon.

But then he stopped. His grip on the blade went slack.

“No. I can’t.”

Hannah nodded. “Goodbye, Castiel.”

And even as Cas’ army abandoned them and they were left on their own once again, Sam breathed easy. Because this--anything was better than the alternative.

* * *

The car ride to the bunker was silent and tense, as most car rides tended to be these days. Sam’s indignation and--okay, anger--had been building the whole way back, though, and it finally came to a head once they descended the stairs into the bunker.

“So, Dean, uh...are we gonna talk about this, or what?” Sam opened. He kept his voice level; he was angry, not stupid.

“About what? Yeah, I lied, but you were being an infant,” Dean replied, voice devoid of emotion but gaze defiant. Condescending, even.

Sam glared at his brother, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Wow. Even for you, that apology sucked.”

“Oh, I'm not apologizing. I'm telling you how it's gonna be.”

“Dean, that Blade--” Sam started.

Dean’s face tightened with anger, eyes wide and slightly unhinged. “That Blade's the only thing that can kill Metatron, and I am the only one who can use it!” Dean cut him off, each word firing from his mouth like a bullet from a gun. “So from here on out, I'm calling the shots. Capisce?” Dean half turned away and Sam stood frozen with fear and anger and who knew what else.

Dean turned back, words softer but no kinder. “Look, until I jam that Blade through that douchebag's heart, we are not a team. This is a dictatorship. Now, you don't have to like it, but that's how it's gonna be.”

Dean made his way over to the library. Sam shouldered his bag and stalked off to his room.

Sam dropped his duffel on the floor, sat down on his bed, and put his face in his hands. Everything was falling apart. He didn’t--he didn’t know what to do.

He took a few deep breaths, struggling to get his roiling emotions under control.

And that’s when he heard the door to the bunker creak open.

* * *

Sam burst into the room at the same time Gadreel walked through the door. He shouted a warning, but the others were already on their feet.

Gadreel raised his hands, moving cautiously. “I'm not here to fight. I thought about what you said. You're right. Metatron, he's...something needs to be done.”

“And we should trust you why?” Sam growled.

“Because I can give him to you. I know where Metatron is. I know everything. I know the bombers--they were his agents, not yours. You don't trust me, fine. I understand. I've…”  Gadreel shot Sam a meaningful glance, “made mistakes. But haven't you? Haven't we all? At least give me a chance," he pleaded.

Sam looked over at Dean, meeting his eyes. Even after everything, Gadreel seemed sincere, and they could use every asset they could get. Any other issues had to be set aside for now. Sam raised his eyebrows in concession. Dean looked back at Gadreel and stepped forward slowly, purposefully. Sam watched as Dean extended his hand to shake, only, that was Dean’s left hand--

And then Dean was grasping Gadreel’s hand, yanking him forward even as he slid the First Blade from his jacket and slashed it across the angel’s chest.

Sam leaped forward at the same time Cas did. They grabbed Dean and held him back desperately. Dean surged against them with inhuman power, his face twisted into a snarl.

Gadreel fell to the ground, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam wondered where it had all gone so wrong.

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this was a hard one! Again, HUGE apologies for the wait and a MASSIVE thank you to those who stuck around! I hope you enjoyed; don't be shy to let me know what you thought in the comments below!


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